X4: Rise Firebird
by plutospawn
Summary: Continuation of Days of the Phoenix. Logan heals and Scott comes to terms.
1. Chapter 1

X4 Rise Firebird:

Author's Note: Technically, a sequel to X3: Days of the Phoenix, though hopefully, it'll be coherent enough on its own that reading the first one won't be necessary. To alleviate some confusion, I'd also like to point out that Jean Grey isn't the only one in the Marvel Universe to be called "Phoenix."

* * *

Chapter 1:

It wasn't a request. It was an obligation. Not that he minded. He doubted that anything short of a bullet to the brain would have kept him from the first plane out of New York.

He had never been to Cairo, had never stepped foot on the African continent, actually. But that wasn't what was important. He drank coffee to occupy the time during the flight, to ensure that jetlag would wait. It would have to.

Ororo was waiting at the airport, just like she had promised. She greeted him with a hug, a bottle of water and a piece of fruit. An apple, not that it mattered. It was red, like the rest of his world.

The rental car had air conditioning, but Ororo preferred the windows rolled down. She offered him a comforting smile as she drove, but the storm cloud that seemed to follow them betrayed the weather witch.

"Ororo?"

"Yes?"

Words failed him. Too many questions whipped through his mind and he lacked the cohesion to make any sense of them. It was the coffee, he decided. It was making him jittery.

"Scott?"

Concern. That was the sound in her voice. He rubbed at his temples.

"How long until we get there?"

"About thirty minutes," she answered.

Thirty minutes. That was forever. But maybe it was too soon. He was just setting himself up for disaster.

"I was surprised when I heard that only you were coming," Ororo began. "I was certain that at least the professor would accompany you."

"No, this is something I need to do alone," Scott said. "To tell you the truth, I almost wish that you weren't here."

"I appreciate your honesty," Ororo replied. "But I'm not going anywhere."

They continued their drive in silence.

The Michael Milbury Medical Facility came into view and Scott tensed as he felt the car accelerate. He considered the expression on Ororo's face before he decided to say nothing. Instead, he tightly gripped his seat.

The facility seemed small against the backdrop of the vast desert, but Scott could see that the private establishment was wealthy and accommodating. He mentally went over his luggage checklist to distract himself. Toothbrush, deodorant, comb, a liter of Jack Daniels half finished. He snorted.

To lighten the mood a bit before he caught his plane, Kurt and Logan had presented Scott with the bottle of good old J.D. The two men chuckled apologies about the missing half liter; Kurt claimed that he had accidentally teleported it to another dimension. It was all in good fun, just so long as they cleaned the reek of liquor from their breaths before they returned to the mansion and students, Scott didn't care. Not really.

What he did worry about was Kurt and Logan's budding friendship. Scott wasn't exactly sure how he felt about it. When he had entered Xavier's mansion, Kurt was a quiet, kind, God-fearing individual. Scott simply didn't know the Incredible Nightcrawler well enough to see whether Logan was just able to get the blue furred man to open up or if he truly was a bad influence. When Kurt interrupted a students' practice session in the Danger Room, flung Rogue over his shoulder and challenged Jubilee to a "duel for the damsel," Scott had bit his tongue. Professor Xavier assured him that as long as that nonsense remained in the Danger Room, it was acceptable.

"Scott, we're here," Ororo said.

"Of course." Scott was out of the car before it had completely lurched to a halt.

Up the wheelchair accessible walkway and through the front door. His legs carried him quickly; his mind was in a daze. To the receptionist behind the counter.

"Can I help you sir?" she asked.

"I need to see the doctor here," Scott tried to keep his voice in check.

"Which doctor?" The receptionist tried to casually shift away from his leering form.

"We're looking for Dr. Nathaniel Essex." Ororo was at his side. She turned to him. "You should have waited for me."

Scott ignored her.

"Yes, Dr. Essex," Scott told the receptionist. "Is he here?"

"Why don't you sit tight for a moment," the receptionist suggested. "I'll give the doctor a call."

Scott continued to stand over the woman until Ororo took him by the arm and led him to a seat in the waiting room.

The receptionist did indeed pick up the phone. Scott couldn't make out the words; she was calling the doctor, wasn't she? He adjusted his ruby quartz glasses and continued his luggage checklist. A pair of sneakers, a pair of sandals, a pair of dress shoes, black, not brown. Three polo shirts, red, blue and yellow, two pairs of khaki shorts. How many pairs of underwear?

"Good afternoon. Melody said that you requested to see me?"

"Dr. Essex, I presume?" Scott bolted out of his chair and held his hand out to the other man.

The pale doctor nodded and shook Scott's hand.

"Is there anything that I can help you with?" Dr. Essex asked. "This facility is primarily used for research, so if you needed a doctor to treat you I'll gladly refer you to another establishment."

"No, it's nothing like that," Scott murmured.

"I called you earlier in regards to a patient of yours," Ororo cut in. "I'm Ororo Munroe."

"Ah, Ms. Munroe." Essex nodded. "You made no mention of your companion, however."

"Scott Summers," Scott offered.

"Well, Mr. Summers, I'm sure that Ms. Munroe informed you as to why you two are here," Essex said. "I won't bore you with chit chat, then. Follow me."

Ororo was a shadow on Scott's heels as they silently followed Dr. Essex. The doctor's hard soled shoes made dull clicks with every step, the only sound in the white, sterile hallways.

Down the hall, take a left, past a closet. Scott concentrated on the simple details. No sign of guards, he could blast his way out of the facility if need be. He glanced at Ororo, she offered a smile. He could blow a hole in the ceiling and Ororo could carry them out with a gust of wind. Then what? Run to the car while Ororo creates a sandstorm for cover. Scott shook his head. Any thought was better than the consistent clicks of the doctor's shoes, the smell of hypoallergenic cleansers.

"Here we are," Dr. Essex announced.

Scott frowned as the doctor punched in a six digit code to open the door. The light on the small console flashed from red to green and the door opened with a small sigh of released air.

He let nerves get the best of him as he pushed the doctor aside and stumbled into the room. It was grotesquely white, but behind Scott's glasses everything was tinted rose. He shuddered. It was the hair that stood out like a beacon to him. Time was supposed to stop, but instead it was rapidly spiraling away.

It was the jetlag, the lack of sleep. It was the coffee, it was the Jack Daniels. It was all those nights he had spent awake and alone. It was Jean. Oh God, it was Jean.

He barely felt Ororo's hand on his arm as she led him to the chair by the hospital bed. Hell, he hadn't known he had been crying until he saw the fat drops land on the sleeping face of the woman he loved.

Scott pitched forward in his seat and buried his face in Jean's hair. She smelled of the bland hospital soap. He'd remedy that soon. He'd send Ororo out for her best friend's favorite shampoo.

"It really is her," Ororo murmured.

Scott looked up and directed his gaze towards Dr. Essex.

"How?"

"Several years of research," was the doctor's reply.

"Doctor, she's…"

"Pregnant?" Essex finished. "Yes, she's very pregnant. I'd say she's approximately eight months along. I'm amazed the fetus survived the treatment."

"Dr. Essex, why don't you give me a tour of the facility?" Ororo said. "we should leave them be."

"Of course." Dr. Essex allowed himself to be drawn from the room by the Kenyan woman.

Alone, Scott firmly grasped her cheek with his hand. Her soft flesh didn't crumble to ashes, didn't vanish. Tangible; he wasn't going insane.

"Oh God, Jean…"

He couldn't finish. He told himself he didn't have to. Telepaths always knew. He gingerly reached for her swelling belly. Scott was rewarded with a swift, insistent kick from the other side of the wall of flesh. How was that even possible?

Not important. Not now.

Scott pulled a small box out of his pants' pocket. In the past he had taken things for granted, he saw the shimmering hope of tomorrow so clearly that he was blinded to the potential of today.

_As Jean and Storm flew out to rescue Nightcrawler, he had been a gibbering wreck as he drove Professor Xavier to visit his old friend. His mentor understood._

_ "I don't know what to do," Scott had said. "I've been practicing in front of a mirror for three weeks."_

_ "I know," Xavier had replied. "Your thoughts are so loud they give me a headache."_

_ "I just want everything to be perfect."_

_ "Perfection is impossible, Scott. We're all flawed."_

_ "What I mean is—"_

_ "Scott." Xavier shook his head as a smile crept across his lips. "She will never be able to say 'yes,' no matter how much she wants to, if you don't ask."_

He wouldn't be able to make up for the lost time, but he could make a fresh start. They could make a new beginning.

It was just a simple princess cut solitaire on a plain gold band, but it suited her. Jean didn't need a three pound jewel-encrusted weight on her finger as she worked in her lab.

It was meant for her finger, Scott decided. He had hoped that she would wake up as he slid the cold metal onto her ring finger, but her sleep wasn't disturbed. No fairytale ending in sight, Scott began his agonizing bedside vigilance.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

"Is that really you, Henry Phillip McCoy?"

"Indeed it is, Ma'am." Hank grinned. "Dare I say that you've grown more beautiful since last I saw you?"

"Boy, you know that flowery nonsense don' work with me," Moira MacTaggert chided. "Now, get over here and greet me properly."

Hank obliged the older woman and was smothered in a hug. As her arms tightened around his ribs, the façade of a man faded away to reveal Hank McCoy's true form. Moira stroked a tuft of blue-gray fur that was poking out of her friend's collar.

"So what I had heard wasn't just a rumor," Moira murmured in her thick Scottish accent.

"A mad scientist until the end, my dear," Hank replied. "The image inducer is Forge's handiwork. I used it on the plane to avoid any unpleasant reactions."

"Charles called to say that you were on your way, but he felt that you should be the one to explain the situation," Moira said. "So introduce me to your friends."

"Of course." Hank cleared his throat. "The gentleman at my side is Logan, also known as the Wolverine."

"Hmmm…" Moira raised an eyebrow and stared at Logan critically. "I dinnae think a man with your reputation would be so pretty."

Logan snorted.

Hank giggled and stepped between the two adults.

"The students we brought with us are Kitty Pryde, Rogue, Bobby Drake and Peter Rasputin."

"I see." Moira's face softened as she walked towards Peter.

Only nineteen and the boy had already faced battle. The hulking Colossus stood over seven feet tall in the steel plated form that he was currently trapped in. Moira grazed a hand over the melted glob of metal that was his right cheek.

"What fool did this to you?" she asked.

"He calls himself Pyro now," Peter said.

"I'll call him dead idiot if he thinks to come near my facility," Moira promised.

Moira slowly circled the boy, eyeing him critically.

"What's the assessment, Hank?" she asked.

"Peter's stuck in his organic steel form," Hank answered. "I asked him to try to revert to flesh and blood, but he couldn't. Perhaps if we find a technique to repair his steel plates…"

"So, do you think we could melt his steel again and redistribute it correctly?" Moira frowned.

"You don't sound pleased with that plan of action," Hank noted.

"What I'm not pleased about is the fact that we're blatherin' on in front of the children," Moira said. "We should discuss all the possible options privately and when we figure out what's best, then we trouble the children with our findings."

"Yes, Ma'am." Hank swallowed.

"Come on, we can talk in my office." Moira turned and began to walk away. "Do you drink coffee or tea?"

"Dr. MacTaggert!"

Moira turned around to face the small group of teens and Logan.

"Yes, Bobby, was it?"

"Yeah." Bobby took a few steps towards the doctor. "You guys spent all your time talking about Peter, but I've kind of got a problem myself."

Slight lines crinkled around Moira's eyes as she smiled.

"So you're the ice boy, are you?" she asked.

"Iceman," Bobby corrected. "But that's just it, I'm turning into ice."

Bobby tugged off his black leather glove to demonstrate the fact. The hand revealed wasn't flesh and blood, but living ice.

Moira walked over to Bobby and took his hand in hers. After looking at it for a moment, she sighed.

"I know this isn't what you wanna hear, but I'm goin' to tell you the truth," Moira said. "Peter has a serious injury and as such, he has top priority. What you're displayin' on the other hand, looks to be an extension of your mutation. With trainin' you'll be able to control it."

"Just like Rogue can control her powers, huh?" Bobby replied bitterly.

"Bobby!" Hank exclaimed.

"It is the truth, ain't it?" Rogue spoke up. "Not just me, either. How long has Mr. Summers been trainin'? He still needs a visor."

"Scott's a special case," Moira explained. "As a child, he suffered severe head trauma and as a result, injured that part of his brain."

"Let me get this straight," Logan cut in. "Fearless leader's got brain damage?"

A smirk quirked across his lips.

"You wouldn't be stupid enough to think brain damage is the same thing as mental retardation, would you, Logan?" Moira replied.

Logan snorted, but said nothing.

"I dinnae think so," Moira said. "For all you know, your lack of memory is a result of a damaged brain. Any more questions or can I speak with Dr. McCoy in my office?"

"Just one," Logan said. "Is this entire facility smoke-free?"

"'Fraid so," Moira replied. "Down the hall there should be a man with strawberry blond hair. Name's Sean Cassidy. He can give you a tour and show you where to have a smoke."

Moira left her guests with Hank following on her heels. She closed the door behind Hank and offered him a chair. Still conscious of his recently gained bulk, Hank gingerly sat down and only ventured to breathe when he was positive the chair would support him.

Moira plugged in a hotpot on the table and pulled out two cups.

"Tea alright with you?" she asked.

"Do you have anything other than Earl Grey?" Hank leaned forward and plucked a picture frame from Moira's desk. An old photo of Moira grinning like a fool, her arms wrapped around a young boy.

"Oolong then?"

"Lovely," Hank murmured. He set the picture back on her desk. A bit too quickly, he had yet to become accustomed to his new abilities. The photograph toppled forward and Hank winced as he heard the glass of the frame shatter.

"You haven't been here for thirty minutes, Hank," Moira laughed. "And already, you're makin' a mess of the place."

"I'm sorry," Hank said. "I'll replace it."

Moira walked over and handed Hank a cup of tea before she sat behind her desk. She picked up the broken frame and shook her head.

"He really was a beautiful boy." She sighed.

"Was that?"

"Aye." Moira set the frame down and looked at Hank. "I'm worried about your student."

"Peter?" Hank asked.

"To be honest, both of your boys," Moira replied. "Bobby looks like he needs help, but nothing I'm qualified for."

"You think he needs counseling?" Hank spoke over the lip of his teacup.

"It's my professional opinion that everyone does at one point or another." Moira smiled warmly. "But Peter… We're gonna have our work cut out for us."

"You sounded hesitant earlier when you mentioned melting his plates back into shape," Hank noted.

"For a couple reasons," Moira replied. "To begin with, when you heat metal its molecules separate."

"And after one anneals metal, the only way to make it hard again is to hammer it repeatedly," Hank finished. "Which I'm sure Peter will think is utterly delightful."

"That wouldn't be so horrible," Moira said. "But how do you administer anesthesia to a metal man? Injections are out. Would gas work? And if gas does work, say the procedure is successful and he reverts to human form; he still has the amount of gas needed to knock him out in his metal state. It's not safe."

"So if we're to use this option, Peter will not be able to have any anesthesia," Hank concluded. "That is troubling."

"I wonder, does organic steel have the same magnetic properties as regular metal?" Moira asked.

"I believe so," Hank said. "Do you think we could use magnets?"

"I have no idea how successful it would be, but at present it sounds the safest," Moira replied. "I could call up Forge and have him build a machine for it."

"It sounds like a long shot," Hank murmured.

"It sounds like all we've got right now," Moira said.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

"Her name is Jean Grey." Ororo took a deep breath to reel in her building anger. "The last time we saw her she was presumed dead at Alkali Lake. In Canada."

"Jean Grey," Dr. Essex mused. "It's nice to be able to finally place a name to the face. I had been calling her Madelyne, because 'Jane Doe' felt too detached to me."

"Dr. Essex, you can imagine how greatly relieved I am to see her alive after putting flowers on her grave for the past two years, but this is a bit overwhelming," Ororo said.

A queer smile crept across the doctor's lips. "Yes, I can imagine."

"I need answers, doctor," Ororo cut in testily.

"I'll do my best to give you sufficient answers," Essex replied.

"How is she pregnant?"

"Perhaps your parents or a sex education teacher would be able to explain where babies come from," Essex said. "But I don't feel that is my place."

"I know she had been intimate with Scott—"

"Then Scott must be the father," Essex decided nonchalantly.

"Like I said, we thought she was dead for two years," Ororo countered. "I do know the gestation period for humans. Perhaps I should suggest you talk with your parents or sex ed. teacher?"

Dr. Essex chuckled. "Ms. Grey has not been sexually active since she's been in my care," he said. "When I found her she was more dead than she was alive, so I immediately placed her into suspended animation. Only after several procedures, did I dare to bring her out of that state approximately seven months ago."

"And just how did a woman who died in Canada turn up in Egypt?" Ororo asked.

"Why, I brought her here," Essex replied.

"Why?"

"I am a geneticist, plain and simple," Essex said. "I needed a freshly dead subject to test the effectiveness of some experimental procedures."

"So she was dead?" Ororo felt a knot forming in her temple. That man was horribly infuriating.

"Not exactly." Essex smoothed his dark hair back with a hand. "With the heavy-handedness of today's medical technology, she most certainly would have died. I simply halted her death by placing her in suspended animation until I could figure out a way to successfully heal her broken body."

"And how does this have anything to do with you being a geneticist?" Ororo asked.

"I'm delighted that you asked," Essex replied. "In my studies I've become completely enamored with the X-gene. This may come as a shock to you, but your friend, Ms. Grey, is a mutant."

"Really?" Ororo turned her eyes from the doctor and chose to gaze out the window.

"Yes," Essex said. "I'm inclined to believe that Mr. Summers is also a mutant."

"What makes you say that?"

"His sunglasses," Essex answered. "I've never seen him without them. Even at night. It's rather peculiar. For that matter, you also have an interesting hair and eye color for someone of an African heritage. Might I inquire if you are a mutant?"

"Many women in my family have shared these physical features," Ororo answered. "They are completely irrelevant to the X-gene that I possess."

"Perhaps," Essex allowed. "How much do you know about mutantkind, Ms. Munroe?"

"Enough to survive." Ororo said tersely.

"Have you ever heard of an omega level mutant?" Essex asked.

"What do you mean?"

"There are far more groups to consider than simply human and mutant," Essex said. "There's your standard baseline human and there's humans that carry a dormant X-gene that could potentially mutate their offspring. But even among mutants there are varying degrees of mutation."

"So for example, a mutant with blue fur and a tail would be considered a higher level mutation?" Ororo ventured.

"Not necessarily," Essex replied. "The categories are based on power levels. You've got your standard mutant and there are also alpha level mutants and omega level mutants."

"What does that have to do with Jean?" Ororo asked.

"I believe Jean is an omega level mutant," Essex replied.

"How powerful are we talking, doctor?" Ororo asked.

"Alpha level mutants are extremely powerful," Essex said. "Anyone would be rightfully fearful of the abilities they possess."

"And omega level mutants?"

"Omegas are special," Essex murmured. "Where one can actually measure an alpha level mutant's powers, all the omega mutants I've studied seem almost limitless in their ability. They'd be able to affect mankind on a global level."

"I should make a few phone calls," Ororo said. "Her family should know she's alive."

Dr. Essex nodded and watched her leave.

Inside the hospital room, Jean still hadn't opened her eyes. A book sat in Scott's lap, forgotten.

He had tried reading to her, but had grown irritable with it. Jean wouldn't have liked it anyway; where they both enjoyed humor she preferred Douglas Adams to his Flannery O'Connor.

So Scott eventually chose to just talk. He began with trivial things, how he ruined a good sweater in the wash, but it had quickly progressed to everything else. He told her how Hank had returned and about the strange girl, Rachel, and how she had claimed to come from the future.

"The professor thinks she was delusional, insane," Scott murmured. "But, me? I don't know. Hank offered to run some tests on her blood samples to see if there was any DNA proof, but I told him not to. If it turned out that there was a match, my entire future would already be decided, but if I found out Rachel was really just crazy… I don't know."

Scott stroked her hand and when she showed no sign of discomfort, he tentatively placed his own hand over hers.

"You had no right to trap me in the Blackbird," he said. "I'm the leader of the X-Men. I should have been out there with you. I could have helped you."

Scott slumped back into his chair. He had initially refused coffee, but when he saw Essex' nurse, Melody, prepare it with bottled water, he relented. The dark haired woman slipped into the room and gave him the Styrofoam cup with a smirk and a nod.

His fingers kneading patterns into Jean's hand, he felt obligated to take a sip of the coffee while Melody was looking on.

"This is exactly how I like my coffee," Scott noted. "How did you know?"

Melody shrugged.

"Lucky guess?" she replied.

"I guess so," Scott said.

"When was the last time you slept?" she asked.

"Not since before the plane ride," he answered.

"That's not good." Melody tsked at him.

Scott ignored her.

"Get some sleep," Melody said. "As a medical practitioner, I demand it."

"It can wait," Scott said.

"And Jean can wait for you to get some rest," Melody replied. "She's already waited months—"

"Years," Scott corrected.

"A few hours won't make any difference," Melody said.

"I want to be there when she wakes up," Scott insisted.

Melody sighed. "Can I at least bring you some pillows and a blanket?"

"Fine," he said.

"Thank you." She smiled triumphantly.

Scott ignored the nurse as she left. Relieved that he was alone with Jean again, he knew Melody would be back. A strange woman, he couldn't help being suspicious of her.

As he turned back to Jean, he found himself staring into a pair of open eyes.

"Scott?" She was blindly looking at the ceiling.

"I'm right here."

"Scott!" Her voice rose as her fingernails dug into her bedding.

"What's wrong?" He reached for her forehead.

"Scott!" She began to shriek, her eyes darting around the room madly.

Objects began to randomly be flung about the room; a vase of flowers, his book and coffee cup, a radio.

"I need a doctor in here now!" Scott hollered as Jean began to glow white.

Darkness followed a blinding flash.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

"Hey." Rogue sat down next to Bobby.

His eyes locked on his frozen hands, Bobby barely acknowledged her. "Hey."

"Are they still working with Peter in there?" she asked.

"Is Kitty still pacing through walls?" Bobby replied.

"You've been really quiet lately, ya know that?" Rogue said.

"Should I start singing and dancing for you?"

Rogue shifted away from him on the bench. "That's not what Ah meant," she said. "Ah'm worried about y—"

"You should worry about yourself," Bobby interrupted. "I haven't been the only quiet one, have I?"

"Ah know it's been difficult." Rogue gripped the edge of the bench tightly. "But maybe we should start with one problem at a time an' go from there."

"Why does it have to be my problem first?" he demanded. The look he gave her made Rogue turn her face from him.

"Because you're scaring me."

"I'm scaring you?" Bobby laughed. "I'm only changing physically. What about you?"

"If you're only changing physically, then why are ya acting so different?" Rogue asked.

"Maybe I've always been this way and you've changed," Bobby said. "Did you ever think of that? This is about Rachel, isn't it? She's still circling in your head, isn't she? Right along with Logan and Magneto—"

"And you!" Rogue cut in. "You're in there too and you're not acting like the Bobby in my head."

"Are you so sure?" He directed his gaze back at his hands. "How do I even know it's you talking? Maybe it's one of the other voices in your head."

"How could ya even suggest something like that?"

Bobby sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. Forget I said anything."

"Ah need to check on Kitty." Rogue brushed herself off as she stood.

Bobby watched her leave silently.

"I don't mean to interrupt—"

"But you're going to, anyway." Bobby gave a hollow laugh. "How can I help you?"

The first thing that Bobby noticed was the man's pronounced nose. A rather strange thing, considering that he had metal prosthetics in place of his right leg and hand.

"I told Dr. MacTaggert that I was going to stop by," he said. "Do you know if she's busy right now?"

"Well, she's always too busy to see me," Bobby grumbled. "So I wouldn't know."

"Is she in her office?" the man asked.

Bobby shrugged and pointed towards an examination room. "She's there."

"Thank you."

Instead of a reply, Bobby turned back to his hands and began to pick at a chunk of ice.

The dark haired man followed Bobby's vague directions and smirked as he heard Moira's voice through the walls. He knocked on the door.

"I could have sworn I installed sound dampeners here," he said as he entered the room.

"I'm sure you did, Forge," Hank greeted. "But even the heavens themselves are loathed to silence our dear, Dr. MacTaggert."

"Hank, you're doin' yourself no favor," Moira warned.

"Yes, Ma'am."

The two doctors stood around the hulking Piotr Rasputin with steel hammers in their hands.

"Do I even want to know what's going on?" Forge asked.

"Mad scientist stuff, I assure you," Hank said. With that, he banged his hammer over Peter's chest. Hank grinned at the dull clank it made. "Solid. We have no Tin Man here, ladies and gentlemen."

"Hank, please," Moira chided. "We're at our wits end, Forge. We decided to test how similar organic steel is to regular steel before we even try to attempt something serious."

"Good thing I brought a prototype," Forge said. "How long have I kept you waiting?"

"Enough time for Hank to sing through the entire Heavy Metal soundtrack."

"I've got it!" Hank exclaimed. "Maxwell's Silver Hammer next!"

"Honestly, Hank McCoy," Moira groaned. "Your mother must be a saint."

Peter cleared his throat. "Excuse me, but I believe your friend said he had a prototype."

"Peter is absolutely correct," Hank said. "Forge, I'd be delighted if you'd explain."

Forge chuckled as he shook his head. "And here I was worried that your transformation would have an effect on your personality."

"I'm made of stronger stuff than that," Hank replied. "Why, I'm positive that the only thing that would have a chance of changing me is if I had grown up in an alternate apocalyptic timeline. Now, down to business. What is this device of yours?"

"Simply put, it's a power enhancer," Forge explained. "It works perfectly too. It just needs a battery."

"What type of battery are we talkin', Forge?" Moira asked.

"I was thinking along the lines of a fellow mutant," Forge answered. "Preferably one with magnetic powers."

"Have you lost your mind?" Moira demanded.

"If I did, I have it backed up on a computer in my home." Forge smirked. "There's more than one telepath in the world, statistically, I doubt Magneto's unique."

"And statistically speaking, what's the chance of having a magnetically inclined student at Xavier's mansion?" Hank asked.

"I was hoping that you could answer that, actually," Forge said.

"Just because I keep alphabetized and color coded files on all the students, it doesn't mean you just assume that I have this information," Hank sniffed.

"But you do," Forge said.

Hank grinned. "Absolutely. I'll call Charles. There's one promising girl, I'm just afraid that her age might make things problematic."

"How problematic?" Forge asked.

"She just turned nine, three weeks ago," Hank said. "Unless she's an early bloomer, we're going to be out of luck."

Hank ambled out of the room, leaving Moira and Forge staring at each other.

"Why don' you check up on your girlfriend, Peter," Moira suggested. "I'll be none too pleased if she damages some of my equipment by phasin' through it."

"Okay." Peter nodded and left.

"It's been a while, Forge," Moira said.

"It has," he agreed. "That boy, Peter seemed bright. Do you honestly believe he thought you were doing anything other than wasting his time with those hammers?"

"I don' wanna worry the children anymore than they already are," Moira said. "Besides, it was more for Hank than Peter."

"Hank?"

"You know how he gets when he cannae come up with a solution to a problem," she replied. "I just wanted to make sure his hands were kept busy."

"What have you been up to since I was here last?" Forge asked.

"You know the usual." She sighed. "Met a boy, married out of convenience, left said boy only to discover I was two months pregnant. You?"

Forge smirked. "I took part in a war that the country doesn't even know happened. Lost a couple limbs in the process; built some new ones. The usual."

"I think we've got our work cut out for us," she said.

"Then we should probably start working," Forge said.

"Agreed."


	5. Chapter 5

"Welcome back, Slim."

Scott blinked. "My head… What happened?"

"Easy now," Melody urged. "I heard a scream and when I ran in I found you face first on the floor."

"Jean?" He bolted upright in the cot. "How's Jean?"

Melody put her hand on his chest and tried to push him back down. "Jean's doing fine." She winked. "I promise. But you've got quite the goose egg on your forehead. Dr. Essex had me run some blood work on you while you were out to make sure everything's normal."

"Normal?" Scott chuckled. "When do the results come in?"

"Not until tomorrow," Melody said. "You don't have a concussion or anything, so you can leave whenever you'd like. But if there's nothing you need, I've got some work I have to do." She headed towards the door.

"The woman I came with," Scott said. "Ororo. Do you know where she is?"

"Last I saw her, she was on the phone with somebody named Hank," Melody replied. "Not that I was eavesdropping or anything."

"Right," Scott muttered. "Thanks."

"No problem."

He watched her leave and when he was certain that Melody was truly gone, Scott stood up and stretched. Jean was one cot over and he pulled a chair to her bedside.

Her breathing was regular and her face had a healthy flush to it. Scott began to nervously straighten her bed sheets. Any day, he told himself. She could wake up any day and then everything would be alright.

Her fingers twitched under his touch and Scott froze. Did she just whimper? No, a giggle.

"This isn't the white hot room." Her voice was hoarse from lack of use.

"Jean?" Scott pressed her fingertips to his mouth. "I'm here, Jean. Just open your eyes."

And she did. Her lashes fluttered lazily, but her smile was firmly in place. "You're here." She touched his cheek. "I'm missing pieces but somehow I knew you'd be here."

"The world could have been ending and I still would have been here," Scott replied.

"I know." Her smile died. "You look awful."

"Just exhaustion," Scott said. "I've been through worse."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no, it doesn't matter." He buried his face in her shoulder. "It's over. It's all over with. You're here and I'm here and it doesn't matter."

"We have company."

Scott straightened in his seat by the bed. He followed Jean's gaze to the door. Melody was leaning on the doorframe, a beaming smile on her face.

"I thought you said you had work to do," Scott said.

"I did," Melody replied. "But you looked so pathetic in there; I thought I'd bring you some coffee before I went back to work." She cleared her throat. "I'll leave you two alone, but Dr. Essex will want to know that his patient is awake. I also told Ms. Munroe that you were looking for her."

"Okay."

"I'll leave now." Melody looked cemented in the doorway.

"Okay," Scott repeated.

"Oh, yeah." She blinked and scurried away.

"How did this happen?" Jean touched her swelling belly as if it didn't belong to her.

"You've been asleep for a long time, Jean," Scott said.

"Jean?" She sunk back into her pillows. "Sounds so strange to hear you say that. I just feel strange, I think."

"I can't even begin to imagine what you've been through," he said. "But you know I'll be here for you."

Jean smiled. "I know. I can feel you in here." She pointed to her temple. "You're very strong."

"That's not true," Scott muttered. "I thought you were dead and I gave up. It was better to be numb than to come to terms with anything."

"Very strong," Jean murmured.

"But I'm not—"

"Say thank you and drop it." Jean closed her eyes as she smiled.

"I'm so happy I was able to find you," Scott said.

"I know."

"Can I come in?" Ororo knocked on the door.

"Door's open," Jean replied.

Ororo slipped in and joined Scott at Jean's bedside. "How are you feeling?"

"Strange," Jean said. "Tired and very, very confused."

"Well, I think that's natural." Ororo smiled at her friend. "I was trying to work on a bit of confusion myself. I just got off the phone with Hank."

"What did Hank say?" Scott asked. "Is he coming here to examine Jean?"

"No," Ororo replied. "He has his own business he needs to take care of on Muir Island. But I asked him about suspended animation."

"Suspended animation?" Scott said. "I don't understand."

"Dr. Essex claims that he placed Jean in suspended animation until he could heal her," Ororo explained. "Personally, I don't trust him. This entire facility feels odd, like my connection to the Earth is dulled when I'm here. I keep expecting the ceiling of this place to cave in on me and I don't like it."

"But Dr. Essex saved Jean." Scott pulled Jean's hand into his.

"For what purpose, I wonder?" Ororo argued. "When I found out you were alive, Jean, I cried I was so happy. But this Dr. Essex knows we're mutants, he's classified you as an omega level mutant and that has me worried."

"And you think his nurse is odd, don't you, Scott?" Jean noted.

"I never said that," Scott said.

"No, you didn't," Jean replied. "Sometimes it's easier to hear other people's thoughts than it is to hear my own."

"Jean, you're a doctor, I trust you," Ororo said. "Is it safe to move you in your present state? I want to get you out of here."

"She just woke up," Dr. Essex said as he walked in. "I think it's crucial that we monitor her and make sure everything is alright. We should also allow the patient to relax, of course."

"And just what will you be monitoring Jean for, doctor?" Ororo asked.

"Why, everything," Essex replied. "To make sure all her systems are functioning correctly and to guarantee that my procedure was successful."

"What exactly was this procedure of yours?" Ororo asked.

"Confidentiality, Ms. Munroe," Essex chided. "Now that the patient's coherent and can make her own decisions, I shouldn't go flashing her medical records about. Without her permission, of course."

"Jean?" Ororo gave her friend a pointed look.

Jean sighed. "I'm really tired right now. This can wait until the morning."

Ororo was about to protest, but received a scowl from Scott. "Of course," she said. "I hope you feel better." She stiffly turned and left.

Scott watched closely as Jean drifted off to sleep. When he was satisfied with the steady rise and fall of her chest, he turned to Dr. Essex.

"Yes?" Essex raised an eyebrow.

"I was told you ran some blood work on me," Scott said. "I'd like your results as soon as possible."

"Absolutely," Essex assured. "I just wanted to make certain that your little fainting spell was a result of exhaustion or low blood sugar and nothing serious."

"How soon can I expect your results?" Scott asked.

Essex smiled. "Why, Mr. Summers, I was just about to start on them now. Would you like to come with me?"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

"Twinkie?"

"No thanks." Bobby brushed the dessert away.

"You don't have to be polite on my account," Hank said. "No one should refuse a Twinkie."

"I'm not hungry," Bobby insisted. "Really."

"Really?" Hank raised an eyebrow. "When was the last time you ate?"

"I think about six days ago," Bobby said.

"And you're not hungry?"

"I'm not."

Hank sat down next to the boy. "Your hunger, did it leave just six days ago or has it been missing since—"

"What's with all the attention now, Dr. McCoy?" Bobby interrupted. "I thought you and Dr. MacTaggert were too busy with Peter to even look at me."

"We were never trying to ignore you, Robert," Hank said.

"Don't call me that," Bobby growled. "Ever. Don't call me that like you're my father."

"I apologize." Hank unwrapped his Twinkie.

"Look, shouldn't you be checking on Peter?" Bobby asked. "Or Rogue or even Logan? I'm sure Logan'll end up tearing this place apart if he doesn't have a babysitter."

"Sean took Logan to the local pub," Hank said. "Peter's resting, Moira and Forge are bouncing ideas off of each other and Kitty's looking after Rogue, who's crying her eyes out, I might add. That leaves just you and me."

"She's crying?" Bobby pinched the bridge of his nose. "Great."

"Ah, young love," Hank mused. "How delightfully nerve wracking."

"Not to be rude, but I don't really think you'd be the best person to give advice on relationships," Bobby said.

Hank popped the Twinkie in his mouth and took a moment to chew in thought. "I suppose you have a valid point," he allowed. "Just because your ex-girlfriend dumped you for mutating into a giant ball of blue fur, that's no excuse for telling her that she made you a homosexual out of spite. Especially when the particular ex-girlfriend in question is a news reporter that can go live with the scoop about a formerly well-respected doctor being a big, blue gay mutant. Sometimes, for being a genius, I'm not exactly bright."

"So you're not gay?" Bobby ventured.

"No," Hank replied. "But if there was one woman on this planet that could make a heterosexual man gay, believe me, it's Trish Tilby."

"Is there any real reason why you've come here?" Bobby asked. "Or were you just bored?"

"Well, I thought that I should check up on you, for one," Hank said. "For two, I just got off the phone with Ororo and she had some rather strange news. Jean Grey is alive."

"You expect me to believe that?" Bobby asked.

"Yes, I'm curious about that myself," Hank murmured. "But Ororo sounded convinced."

"Must be a mutant thing," Bobby grumbled. "The dead are too stubborn to die and me, I can't even thaw myself."

"A mutant thing?" Hank chuckled. "Would that _thing_ also have to do with you making a monumental ass out of yourself?"

"What would you know?"

"Now don't get defensive," Hank said. "This doesn't have to be taken as advice between two friends. It's strictly my professional opinion."

"Whatever." Bobby stood up. "I'm going to go see if I can find a freezer to sleep in."

"Don't walk away," Hank said.

"Oh?" Bobby stiffened. "Why not? You going to give me a lecture about how just because we're different we can still be accepted? We're not freaks, we're special? I've already heard Mr. Summers' version, thanks."

"No," Hank said. "I'm not. They'll always hate us, I think. Not to say that Xavier's dream of coexistence can't or won't happen, but I'm a man of science and the statistics back up my rather pessimistic opinion."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Here and not with Magneto, you mean?" Hank replied. "I'm doing something positive here. Like right now, for example, I'm going to take you into an examination room and try to figure out just what it is that's going on with your mutation."

"You think you'll find a cure for this?" Bobby asked.

"A cure?" Hank laughed. "I've got a cure, alright. You'll start sprouting blue fur all over your body. After that, you won't care about a little bit of ice."

"Let's just get this over with," Bobby said.

"A most excellent idea," Hank agreed.

The two men headed down a corridor and past several rooms before Hank chose to unlock one at random. The doctor opened the door and blinked in realization before shutting it quickly.

"What's wrong?" Bobby asked.

"Let's just pick another room, shall we?" Hank said.

"That one was fine."

"No, it wasn't," Hank insisted. "Old memories, Bobby. Let's just go with another room."

"Uh, okay." Bobby raised an eyebrow. "How about that one?"

"Marvelous." Hank unlocked the door and motioned for Bobby to follow him.

Bobby sat on the examining table and waited while Hank washed his hands. "Do you really think Dr. Grey is alive?"

"When I see it, I'll believe it, I suppose," Hank murmured. "Wet fur smells atrocious."

"That'll make Rogue feel better, at least," Bobby said. "How upset was she when you saw her?"

"She'll get over it," Hank replied. "She seems resilient enough. Granted, I'm going on first impressions here, so I may not be one hundred percent correct. Perhaps it may be better to, I don't know, talk to her instead of getting the information secondhand from me?"

"Alright, I get it." Bobby scowled. "It's none of your business anyway."

"Then why did you ask me about it?" Hank asked.

Bobby groaned. "Can we drop this?"

"Why, Bobby," Hank replied. "It doesn't concern me, so I have no difficulty in dropping _it_, as you so eloquently put it. But as it's a matter that you've deeply invested in, I feel it would be exceedingly beneficial to you if you'd talk about it. Get it out of your system, so to speak."

"Will you just examine me?" Bobby demanded.

"Consider it dropped," Hank muttered. "Take off your gloves."

Bobby hesitated.

"Bobby?"

"It's not that simple anymore," Bobby whispered. "I think I better show you."

"I'm ready if you are." Hank adjusted his glasses.

Bobby took a deep breath and tugged his gloves off. The translucent ice of his hands caught the light as the boy grasped the bottom hem of his shirt and pulled the clothing off of his body.

"Oh my stars…" Hank murmured.

"You see now, don't you?" Bobby asked. "I don't know what to do."


	7. Chapter 7

7:

"You should try the salad," Ororo suggested. "It's delicious, but I'm positive my breath is going to be horrible afterwards."

"That's okay," Scott said. "I'm still trying to figure out how to eat this, pigeon I think it is, without making a mess."

Sick of the food available at the facility, the two had ordered out. Ororo insisted that they try native Egyptian cuisine and finally won that argument when she pointed out that the chance of Egyptian style deep dish pizza resembling Chicago style deep dish pizza was highly unlikely. While tasty, Scott found extracting the meat from the small game bird a trial and made a note to stick to chicken and other larger birds in the future.

"Once Jean's well enough to move around, we should treat her to one of the kebab stands," Ororo said. "I think she'd really like it."

"Yeah," Scott agreed. "We'll have to do that before we leave Cairo."

"What is Dr. Essex doing with her, anyway?" Ororo asked.

"He said it was just a routine examination," Scott replied. "To see if the baby's developing how it should."

"How were your test results?" she said between a bite of salad.

"It wasn't anything that I didn't already know," Scott said.

"You look troubled," Ororo noted. She set her fork down. "Did anything happen when you were alone with Dr. Essex?"

Scott gave up on his fork and began to pull the meat off the bones with his fingers. "He must have done more than blood work," he muttered. "Essex kept bringing up my brain. He noticed the damage in the midbrain and he said he could fix it."

"What do you think about that?" Ororo asked.

"It's lunacy," Scott answered. "People don't just get brain surgery because they have a problem, it's usually a life or death situation. Besides, if I was going to get operated on, it would be by a certified neural surgeon."

"You'll find that Dr. Essex is a certified neural surgeon," Melody commented as she sauntered down the hall.

"He told me he was a geneticist," Ororo stated crisply.

Melody raised an eyebrow. "He is. Dr. Essex is a rather determined man."

"Is there a reason why you decided to join us?" Scott asked.

"Dr. Essex is done with Ms. Grey for the moment." Melody smiled. "You're free to visit her, if you'd like."

"Thank you," Scott said.

"No trouble at all," Melody replied.

Ororo shook her head as Melody trotted away. "You know, growing up in the Serengeti Plains, we only wore clothing to combat the elements," she said. "Nudity wasn't the taboo it is to Westerners."

"What made you think of that?" Scott asked.

"Oh, nothing," Ororo muttered, her eyes locked on Melody's mini skirt as the nurse rounded a corner. "I just wonder sometimes if Westerners wear more clothing than necessary because of the thrill they get in taking them off."

Scott swallowed. "Let's go see Jean."

The two disposed of their lunch remains in a trash can. They headed down the corridors of the facility, Ororo's heels making audible clicks on the tile floor. Jean was sitting up in her bed, a magazine in her lap. She smiled.

"Enjoy your lunch?"

"Yes," Ororo replied. "Maybe next time we'll get to take you."

"Sounds good," Jean agreed. She tossed the magazine aside. "Maybe I'll be ready for it tomorrow. And if not, I'll let you sneak some food in to me."

"That should be fun." Ororo smiled and took a seat beside Jean.

"How's the baby?" Scott asked.

"Everything's going according to plan," Jean replied. "Perfectly healthy."

"That's good," Scott murmured.

"Dr. Essex said that my due date is in two and a half weeks," Jean said.

"That soon?" Ororo exclaimed. "We're hardly prepared. What kind of crib would you like?"

"It's taken care of," Scott said. "The last time I talked with Professor Xavier, he was making arrangements for a nursery. All we need to do is tell him what color we want."

"Do you know if it will be a boy or girl?" Ororo asked.

"I like surprises," Jean answered. "Good surprises, anyway."

"I suppose that means blue and pink are out." Ororo smiled. "Maybe yellow or green?"

"Jean, I was thinking," Scott said. "If it's a girl, Rachel would be a nice name."

"What made you think of that?" Jean asked.

"You don't like it," Scott muttered.

"No, I think that's a great name," Jean replied. "But what about if it's a boy?"

Scott chuckled. "I hadn't thought about that."

"What happens when I give birth to a son, then?" Jean laughed. "We name him Rachel?"

"Well, my father's name was Christopher," Scott suggested. "Or we could name the baby after the professor…"

"Or perhaps after the doctor who delivers the child?" Dr. Essex slipped into the room soundlessly. He offered Ororo a gratuitous smile before he faced Scott.

"Is there anything you need, Doctor?" Scott asked.

"I was wondering if I could have a word with you, actually," Essex said. "In private."

"Sure." Scott bent forward and kissed Jean's forehead. "I'll be back in a little bit."

Scott followed Dr. Essex out of the room and waited as the other man shut the door. Essex motioned for Scott to join his side as he walked down the corridor.

"What's this about, Doctor?" Scott asked.

"Well, in all honesty, it's a difficult subject," Essex admitted. "One that I'm not entirely sure I should be discussing with you."

"What do you mean?" Scott stopped walking.

"Please, I'd rather say in my lab," Essex said. "I want the evidence in front of me."

"What evidence?" Scott demanded. "What are you talking about?"

Dr. Essex headed over to the door to his lab. He shot Scott a hesitant glance as he typed in the lock's password. "How well do you know Ms. Grey?"

"I've known her for years," Scott said. "I'm going to marry her."

"Come in, make yourself at home," Essex said as he sat down at a table. "So you know Ms. Grey quite well."

"Of course," Scott replied. The chair he pulled out from the table made a loud grating noise against the sterile floor. "Why?"

"Has she ever been known to have dalliances with other men?" Essex asked.

"No!" Scott snapped. "What kind of question is that?"

"I'm just trying to put all the facts together," Essex replied.

"Facts about what?" Scott demanded. "What are you getting at?"

"When you fainted I took a blood sample," Essex said. "To be positive that you weren't suffering from any sort of ailment. But out of curiosity, I compared your DNA to that of Ms. Grey's fetus to see if I could predict if the child would be a mutant. And if it was a mutant, what its abilities would be."

Scott stood up and walked to the door. "I don't want to hear this, do I?"

"The DNA didn't match," Essex said.

"Excuse me," Scott murmured.

"I'm sorry."

"I have to go." Scott stepped out of the lab and disappeared down the hallway.


	8. Chapter 8

8:

Henry McCoy was speechless as he straightened his glasses. He tried to give the younger man with him a reassuring smile and was fairly certain that he failed miserably. Hank fixed his collar and opened the door to the examination room.

"I'll run some test work, Bobby," he promised. "I won't stop working on this until we have a solution."

"Dr. McCoy." Bobby's eyes darted towards his feet. "Don't tell Rogue about this. Please?"

"I wouldn't," Hank replied.

"Thanks," Bobby said. "I mean, I appreciate it."

"Take care, Bobby."

Hank watched the teen hurry off down the hallway. He shook his head. When he had been Bobby's age, he had been accepting college scholarships, both for his academic work and athletic prowess. He liked to think of those as simple days when he was just Hank, Edna's and Norton's son, before he knew the name Charles Xavier. He shuddered to think of how he would have turned out had he been fighting super villains at that age instead of just growing up.

"Quiet night."

Hank spun around and wafted the cigar smoke away with a hand. "Logan!" he hissed. "I am in serious doubt over the functionality of your mental capacities. Moira will skin you alive if she catches you smoking in her facility."

Logan raised an eyebrow. He gave the cigar between his fingers an offhand glance before he rubbed it out on his palm. "The popsicle looks a little better."

"Why would you call him that?" Hank demanded, a bit too sharply.

Logan shrugged. "Better than what he calls me when he thinks I'm out of earshot."

Hank smirked. "Maybe you deserved to be called whatever name he chose."

"This coming from a shag carpet?" Logan replied. He turned serious. "Look, I've got a question for you."

"I'll answer if I can," Hank said.

"I don't like being here," Logan said. "I don't have a friendly history with research facilities."

"Ah, yes," Hank murmured. "The metal bones. Quite fascinating."

"This place smells like death," Logan interrupted. "Feel like talking?"

"Death, you say?" Hank swallowed. "That's really something you should discuss with Moira—"

"I'm discussing it with you," Logan growled. "Now, my instincts are screaming about this place and if I can't trust it, I don't want a group of kids just wandering around it."

"You have valid concerns, Logan," Hank said, his pace a façade of calm. "But I will not talk about this without Moira's consent."

"I ain't playing games with you," Logan said. "Talk. Now."

"It is a personal matter, that I was not involved in," Hank insisted. "You speak to Moira."

"So this is the camaraderie that Charles always boasts about his X-Men havin'?" Arms crossed over her chest, Moira wore a frown. She walked down the hall towards the two men. "I smell cigar smoke."

"How are things with Peter?" Hank asked her.

"I just got off the phone with Charles," Moira said. "He's sendin' the girl you wanted along with a Kurt Wagner here on the next available plane."

"Wonderful." Hank smiled.

"You and me need to talk, doll," Logan said.

"I can see that we do," Moira replied. "Last time I checked, you were a guest here. Who do you think you are smokin' in my facility, harassin' my friend and how dare you call me doll?"

"Logan has some questions," Hank said. "In regards to the original purpose of the facility."

"Original purpose?" Moira frowned. "What does he know?"

"Enough to hear the truth," Hank replied.

Moira met Logan's gaze and slowly nodded. "Aye," she said. "Let's head back to my office, the three of us. We can talk in private there."

The three adults walked briskly through the corridors, Logan keeping a keen eye on the Scottish woman. Sean Cassidy was waiting inside Moira's office, the man had told Logan he was the groundskeeper, but the glance he shared with Moira spoke volumes.

"Ye're looking a bit pale, Moira dear," Sean noted. "Anything wrong?"

"Fix me some tea, will you, Sean?" Moira asked as she sat down. "Have a seat boys."

Hank obliged and sat in front of her desk. Logan remained standing by the doorway.

"I should've expected that a human with a mutant research facility would seem odd," Moira said.

"Oh, not odd," Logan snorted. "I've met humans with mutant research facilities before. Ever hear of William Striker?"

Sean slammed the teacup down on the table. "Ye watch yer tone, boy," he warned. "The lady's done nothing to deserve this."

"You and what army's going to make me, Irish?" Logan growled.

"Just me," Sean promised.

"Oh dear," Hank muttered.

"Sean, I can take care of myself," Moira said. "You should sit down, Logan. I brought you here to talk, not to bounce testosterone off of Mr. Cassidy."

"You talk, I'll listen." Logan made no move to sit down.

"I had a son," Moira said. She turned around the picture frame on her desk so that Logan could see it. She still hadn't replaced the frame that Hank broke. "Kevin. It became clear a little after his eleventh birthday that he was a mutant. I tried to help him."

"Help him how?" Logan asked. "Like McCoy's botched cure?"

Hank winced, Moira just gave the feral man a humorless smile. "No," she replied. "Kevin was a very powerful mutant, but his abilities were also taxin' to his physical form. I spent all my time on perfectin' containment suits and containment rooms so that he wouldn't burn his body out. It dinnae work, of course."

"So he died?"

"No." Moira glanced down at the tea Sean had placed in front of her. "He took his first replacement body. A twenty-one year old intern at the facility and when that body burned out, he moved on to a cab driver, then a single mother, then a six year old boy, then a police officer…"

"Moira, let it go," Sean urged. "That's not the important part of the story."

"Those people are important!" Moira glared at him with red rimmed eyes. "Those people had lives and families and dreams and they died because of one selfish boy. And that boy became more twisted every time he claimed a new victim."

"Don't beat yerself up like this, Moira." Sean kneaded her shoulder with his hand.

"The man has a right to know that my intentions are good," Moira said. "That they're right and not misguided."

"What happened to your son?" Logan asked.

Moira took a sip of her tea and set the cup on the table softly. "I killed him."


	9. Chapter 9

9:

The lab was dark when Melody crept into it. The nurse sat down at the computer and opened up a file labeled "X-Man," another labeled, "Scott Summers." Her eyes flashed orange as various diagrams of DNA popped up on the computer screen.

"Find what you were looking for?"

Melody stiffened.

"You're going to strain your eyes in the dark." Dr. Essex flipped on the lights and walked over to her.

"Just curious about things." Melody laughed.

"Then you should ask me," Essex replied. "And I would tell you."

"But I wanted to see with my own eyes," Melody said. "You understand."

"Yes, I understand," Essex murmured.

"Dad's gone," Melody continued. "What did you tell him to abandon a pregnant woman?"

"The truth," Essex answered. "That the child's not his."

"Yeah, but the kid's his as much as it is anybody's," Melody replied. "I thought you wanted it to be his."

"I don't always get what I want," Essex said.

"But you used his DNA," Melody insisted.

"Partially," Essex admitted. "The DNA sample I acquired from Scott Summers was old, damaged, incomplete. His brother's DNA, however, was fully intact."

"I didn't know he had a brother," Melody said.

"You'd be surprised at what you could find, browsing through old files at an orphanage," Essex commented.

"So you merged the DNA?" Melody asked.

"I did."

"That still doesn't explain what you told Summers," Melody said. "He left. There was no purpose in that."

"Why so curious, Ms. Jacobs?" Essex asked.

Melody shrugged. "I just can't see the logic in that move."

"Logic?" Essex chuckled. "There was no logic in letting him stay. Ms. Jacobs, you know the most important part of this project, you know what we've put all our work into."

Melody nodded. "The child."

"Exactly," Essex said. "The child. Once the child is born, the woman is forfeit. Do you think Mr. Summers would agree to our sentiments?"

She laughed. "No, I suppose you have a point. I just thought that you still wanted things from him like tissue samples."

"Taken."

"Then why not have her miscarriage?" Melody suggested. "The fetus is probably sub par to what it could have been with pure DNA."

"Well, there's always the opportunities to learn from our mistakes," Essex replied. "Let's see how this particular child turns out, I've got enough samples to impregnate the woman a second time now if this prototype is a complete disaster."

"I guess I had no reason to be worried," Melody said. "Only, what are we going to do about the other woman? The one that arrived with Summers?"

"She is very powerful, in her own right," Essex admitted. "But no one is without a weakness. I'm sure we'll find something."

"Well, she doesn't seem to like us very much." Melody shut down the computer. "So I don't think she'd openly show us anything, especially something that we could take advantage of."

"Patience," Essex coaxed.

"Patience?" Melody snickered. "How patient are you going to be when the kid's born? Patient enough to just watch them take the baby to New York?"

Essex ran his hand through Melody's hair, knotting it around his fingers. He tugged her head back. "I don't appreciate your lack of faith in me."

"You have enough faith in yourself, you don't need mine," Melody said. "I'm just trying to be realistic, is all."

Essex smiled. "That woman, my host, will never leave this facility," he whispered. "I'll kill her first. I dealt with the man and we'll deal with his white haired friend in time."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Can I talk to Rogue?" Bobby asked. "Alone."

Kitty raised an eyebrow. "I don't think right now's a good time," she said. "She's busy."

"When do you think I should come back?" he asked.

Kitty glanced behind her at the clock on the wall. "I don't know," she sighed. "Maybe never."

"Look, I don't need your permission." Bobby scowled.

"I suppose you have a point." Kitty shrugged. "But I could always phase you into the middle of a cement block and let go. That'd be kind of messy."

"Cute," Bobby noted. "Are you going to let me talk to her?"

"You can talk to whoever you want," Kitty said. "Just remember, hurt her again, cement block."

"I'll keep that in mind," Bobby replied.

Rogue was on one of the sparse white cots, knees pinned against her chest, arms wrapped around a pillow, dirty sneakers on the sheets. Her eyes flitted up briefly at him, only to dart back to the pillow in her hands.

"Hi."

"Hi."

Bobby sat at the foot of her cot. "I want to talk to you."

"About what?" she asked.

"About me," he said. "You're right. I've been acting weird and it had nothing to do with you, but I don't know."

"What're ya trying to say?" Rogue asked.

"I wrote a letter," Bobby said. "Back at the mansion, when I was in the freezer. It took me a while, I explained everything. But I haven't heard back yet."

"Bobby, ya are not making any sense." Rogue shifted over to him. "What letter?"

"My mom." Bobby sighed. "My parents. I mailed them a letter. Like two weeks ago. They didn't call, didn't even write back."

"Bobby, we're on Muir Island right now," Rogue argued. "They could have tried. Maybe there's a letter waiting for ya back in Westchester."

He shot her a look.

"Maybe not," she allowed.

Rogue sat and listened to the silence for a moment. Bobby's brows were dark and furrowed and for a second, she wished he were older.

"Ya were right, ya know," she said.

Her voice jolted Bobby from his thoughts. "Hmm?"

"Ya were right," Rogue repeated. "About touching Rachel, Ah mean. Ah shouldn't have. Ah touched her for a pretty long time."

"Do you think you hurt her?" Bobby asked.

Rogue shook her head. "Ah touched Magneto longer," she mumbled. "Touched Logan longer."

"But that's all over with, right?" Bobby said. "They're not hurt and it was only temporary, right?"

"Ah can still hear them," Rogue said. "Ah think they'll always be there. And with the longer ones Ah can just flip through their memories like they were mine."

"I don't get it," Bobby replied. "You've had Logan and Magneto in you for a while now. What's gotten you so upset?"

"Logan doesn't have many memories," Rogue said. "Magneto spent time at Auschwitz, but over the years he's tucked those memories away tight. Rachel grew up in a concentration camp."

"You know, Professor Xavier said she was probably crazy," Bobby began.

"It doesn't matter," Rogue insisted. "She believed it and all her memories seem so real. Ah can see Storm and Logan, but they're older. And the stretch of land that connects the labor camp to the sleeping quarters is lined with tombstones and Ah can see names and dates."

"You recognize names, don't you?" Bobby realized.

Rogue didn't answer.

"Whose name did you see?" Bobby asked.

"It doesn't matter," Rogue muttered.

"Was it mine?"

"She was crazy, right?" Rogue pleaded. "Ah feel like Ah'm going crazy too."

"Hey, the professor said she was nuts," Bobby said. "And even if she wasn't, that's all her future and we changed it. Graydon Creed's still alive."

"Yeah he's alive," Rogue snorted. "And the president for the Friends of Humanity."

"It's better than him being the president of the United States," Bobby countered.

"He was the elected president," Rogue argued. "He just resigned."

"Rogue, they were going to impeach him," Bobby replied.

"And why was that?" She tossed her pillow aside. "Because he had mutant parents."

"All that matters is that he's out of office." Bobby sighed. "The Friends of Humanity don't have any political power. He can't hurt us."

"You say that now," Rogue said. "Wait 'til they start crucifying mutants on our doorstep."

He propped his chin on her shoulder. "That won't happen." He grinned. "They'd have to go through Wolverine first and that'd be a miracle in and of itself."

"Ah guess so." Rogue forced a hesitant smile to her lips.

A knock on the door interrupted them.

Not waiting for a reply, Kitty phased her head through the door. "Hey," she said. "Mr. Wagner just got here."


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: Just a quick reminder that I'm not fluent or even partially competent when it comes to the German language. If I butcher it, please let me know.

* * *

10:

Lorna Dane was an average nine year old girl. Hilary Duff was in her Ipod during the flight, but if any of the boys back at the school had asked her, she would have said she was listening to Outkast; her Keds were pink and her hair, bright green. Lorna allowed Kurt to lead her into the facility, her hand tightly wrapped around the older man's tail.

Hank met them at the door. "Kurt, I'm glad to see you two arrived safely."

"Likewise," Kurt said. "We came as soon as you called."

"And you must be Lorna." Hank bent down to be eyelevel with the girl. "It's a pleasure, young lady."

Lorna's knuckles turned white around Kurt's tail. She glanced up at the German man for support.

"It's alright, liebe," Kurt assured.

"He looks like an animal," Lorna whispered a bit too loud.

"Beast," Hank corrected. "Animal is a Muppet."

Lorna flushed and looked down at her shoes.

"Well." Hank cleared his throat and stood upright. "I've got a few people here that have been dying to meet you, Lorna. I'd be delighted if you'd follow me."

"It's okay," Kurt said to her. "I'll go with you."

"You better," she mumbled.

Hank led them through the facility and into an examination room. Moira, Forge and Peter were waiting within. Hank motioned for Lorna to make herself comfortable on the table and Kurt lifted her onto it. Lorna shifted on the padded table and grimaced at the crinkling sound that the sterile paper sheet made beneath her.

"Now, you know Peter already, don't you?" Hank asked.

Lorna nodded her head.

"But I've got a couple of new people I'd like to introduce you to," Hank continued. "There's Dr. MacTaggert, she's in charge of this entire operation and Mr. Forge, an inventor."

"Mister?" Forge smirked.

"Let him carry on," Moira urged.

"Do you know why we brought you here, Lorna?" Hank asked.

Lorna shrugged. "You need me."

"Yes we do," Hank replied. "Desperately."

"Why?"

"Because of your mutant abilities, dear," Moira cut in. "Peter's hurt and we need your help."

"My help?" Lorna narrowed her eyes. "What could I do?"

"That's what we'd like to find out," Moira replied. "Preliminary tests have shown that your mutant ability has to do with magnetism."

Lorna shook her head. "No, Magneto does that. I want wings like Mr. Worthington."

"And I want a body like Heidi Klum," Hank muttered.

Moira slapped Hank in his arm. "You behave, Henry. This is serious."

"We don't always get to decide things about ourselves," Kurt told the girl. "Did you decide that you wanted to have green hair? I know I didn't decide I wanted yellow eyes."

"No," Lorna said. "But copycat powers are stupid."

"That's where you're wrong," Kurt replied. "That's God's will. He gave you those abilities for a reason. Maybe for something greater than I can even imagine."

"But anything I can do, Magneto can too," Lorna said.

"Not true." Kurt tapped a finger against her nose. "Because he doesn't have your heart."

"Okay." Lorna sighed. "What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing too difficult," Moira said. "Just a little test."

Hank placed a screw next to the girl. "I want you to try and move that. No hands, no feet, no teeth or anything else physical involved."

"How?" Lorna asked.

"That's a good question," Hank murmured.

"Have you had any headaches recently?" Moira asked. "I know many mutants suffer a series of migraines before their powers emerge."

Lorna shook her head.

"Well, how did you know how to use your powers, Hank?" Moira asked.

"That's not a fair question," Hank replied. "My strength and agility is just augmented. My intelligence is higher than the average person's. There was nothing extra I had to learn."

"When I first discovered that I was a mutant, it was by accident." For someone who rarely chose to speak, Peter Rasputin spoke with a striking baritone. "My little sister was about to get run over by a runaway tractor. I panicked and put myself between the tractor and her."

"And it just happened?" Hank asked.

"I screamed and braced myself for the impact," Peter said. "The next thing I can remember is looking at a destroyed tractor."

"So, you were able to transform at will after that?" Moira asked.

"Well, no." Peter blinked. "After that I had to be very relaxed so I could concentrate. It was like a weak, unused muscle."

Forge laughed, but Hank noticed an irritated tick along the other man's brow line. The Cheyenne man bent down to be eye to eye with Lorna. "Look at me," he said. "I want you to ignore everyone else. They don't exist. Just concentrate on me and my voice. Okay?"

"Okay." Lorna glanced over at Kurt. "They're still here."

"Lorna, don't look at them," Forge said. "Look at me. I need you to concentrate."

Nothing happened.

"I'm trying!" Lorna insisted.

"This may take a while," Moira said.

"So…" Kurt trailed off.

"So," Hank replied.

"Where is Logan anyway?" Kurt asked. "He said he had found a pub here that would be up to my standards."

"I'll be honest," Hank replied. "I haven't been keeping up with Logan. I've had too much work inside the facility."

"Last I checked, he was out havin' a smoke," Moira said.

"I'll go try to track him down," Kurt said.

Outside, Logan decided he liked Scotland. MacTaggert's facility was on a cliff overlooking the ocean and he could appreciate the smell of the salt air. Of course Logan was smoking and the thick cigar smoke tended to overpower any other scent. It made him feel a little human.

If he felt like getting philosophical, he supposed that there was more to his cigars than his reputation. Hell, Kojak was a lollipop sucking badass, Logan was fairly certain that the majority of Xavier's school would still be terrified of him if he traipsed about in a pink tutu. Maybe more so.

As shaky as his memory was, occasionally Logan had a random flash of something. Hearing a ragtime tune would make him smile although he couldn't place why, the smell of a wood stove made him upset and whenever February rolled around he would imagine plum blossoms of all things. None of it made any sense, but that coupled with an extensive physical from Xavier's pointed to that Logan had lived too long.

So he smoked. Maybe that way he'd be able to offset his healing factor and one day die. He couldn't help but think about what would happen if he lived to see people blow up the planet or to experience the sun go supernova. Logan could only hope he'd die, instead of floating around in space, his body knitting itself back together in time for the newly formed black hole to tear it apart again.

He put the cigar out and tossed it over the precipice. That was one good thing about Xavier and his school. All the prepubescent angst distracted Logan from his own thoughts. Only a week ago, little Jamie Madrox fell out of bed while he slept and the impact caused his body to duplicate; the duplicate carried out a romance with Theresa Rourke that ended with a heartbroken seven year old girl when Jamie inevitably reabsorbed his clone. Never a dull moment.

"When did you get here?" He asked, not bothering to look at the man who joined him.

"I took the first flight I could out of Cairo," Scott said.

Logan's nose twitched. Fearless leader smelled off. "Oh?"

"Look, we…" Scott shifted uncomfortably. "We need to talk."

"Talk?" Logan narrowed his eyes. "About what?"

Scott swallowed, looked up and hit Logan with an optic blast.


	11. Chapter 11

11:

Author's note: The marvelous Phoq helped me with the French.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Melody, I won't tell you again, do something useful like checking on the mother to be."

Melody ran a hand through her hair. "The other one's there," she said. "I thought you said we were going to do something about her."

"And I told you patience," Essex said. "You can be replaced."

"Oh?" Melody smiled. "You'd be surprised."

"I doubt it," Essex replied. "Now, leave me, I have other pressing business to take care of."

"I'll be back with an update," Melody said. "Is two hours enough time for you?"

"More than enough," Essex said. "Now go."

Melody snorted and slipped through the door. Essex shook his head and turned the lights on. Seated behind him, a younger man had his feet kicked up on a table.

The other man tsked. "Cette femme est un paquet de problemes."

"Her time is coming to a close," Essex replied. "Ignore her."

"Et la femme avec aux cheveux blancs?" he asked.

"Not your problem," Essex said. "I have something better suited to your abilities."

"Oh?" The man chuckled. "Qui est-ce que j'emmerde?"

Essex shook his head. "You have a horrible French accent. In this envelope, I have a plane ticket and instructions. Don't mess up."

"Oui."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was never in one's best interest to goof off around a cliff. A full out life and death brawl was much less desired. For the man who was inducted into the X-Men after tap dancing on Lady Liberty's head, he was more annoyed with himself than his attacker.

"Should've seen that coming," Logan grunted.

"So, you're not denying anything?" Tears or the glint of Scott preparing another attack, Logan couldn't tell. But he sure as hell wouldn't take a chance.

"Deny what?" Logan demanded as he dove, claws unsheathed at Scott. "You've got a messed up way of talking, Summers."

Scott hit the other man mid-lunge with an optic blast. "I am sick and tired of putting up with your crap."

"My crap?" Logan wiped blood from a healing wound in his shoulder. "You can't even manage to wrench the stick from your ass when you're having a hissy fit."

"I'm dead serious." Another optic blast.

Logan fell flat to the ground, barely dodging the enraged shot. "I can see that," he muttered. "You going to explain yourself or am I going to stop going easy on you?"

"You won't be able to get within five feet of me and you know it," Scott said.

Logan shrugged as he leapt to his feet. "I always liked a challenge."

"I bet," Scott snarled. "She was my fiancee!"

"Huh?"

With Logan distracted, Scott let off a final, enormous blast. Enveloped in a smoldering wave of red, Logan was flung off the cliff. Scott watched with gritted teeth.

Logan reappeared in a cloud of sulfur, brimstone and obscenties. Kurt was standing behind him. The blue furred mutant brushed Logan's shirt off and shot Scott a glance.

"I did not expect to see you here, Scott," Kurt said.

Logan stalked towards Scott and decked him. "What the hell is wrong with you."

Scott moved to attack him again, but Kurt intervened, teleporting the Wolverine to a fair distance. "What is going on?" the German asked.

"That's what I want to know," Logan replied.

Scott just shook his head and turned around. As he began to walk away, he called hotly over his shoulder, "Jean's in Cairo. Pregnant. Maybe you should go see her."

"Pregnant?" Kurt exclaimed.

"Hey!" Logan hollared. "What the hell do you think you're implying?"

"What do you think I'm implying?" Scott kneaded the bridge of his nose. "Damn it!"

"Logan!" Kurt exclaimed. "Did you?"

"Don't you get involved in this, Elf," Logan snapped. He stormed over to Scott. "What did I tell you?" What the hell did I tell you right after Alkali Lake?"

"I know what you told me," Scott growled. "But I know the kid's not mine. Should I assume it was an immaculate conception?"

"You know, I took you for a lot of things, One-eye," Logan said. "But I never took you for a damn idiot. You just got to prove me wrong, don't you?"

"What the hell am I supposed to think?" Scott demanded.

"That you got played for a fool," Logan replied. "I'll say this once and if you question me again, I'll gut you. Jean is a good woman. Jean did not sleep with me."

"Yeah?" Scott sniffed. "Whose is it, then? Kurt's?"

Logan moved to slug him again. Kurt teleported Scott a few feet away.

"Stop this, both of you!" Kurt pleaded. "Your fighting will accomplish nothing."

"Everything was fine until you came along and ruined it!" Scott accused.

"Keep telling yourself that, kiddo, if it helps you sleep at night," Logan shot back.

"Enough!" Kurt hollared. "You two are team mates. Friends."

"Yeah, we're just the best of pals, aren't we, Logan?" Scott's voice had an acidic bite to it.

"I don't care what you think of me, pal," Logan said. "But I'll kill you if you ever think to bad talk the lady."

Scott turned around and stalked towards the facility.

"That did not go well," Kurt murmured.

"Piss on Summers," Logan muttered as he pulled out a cigar. "He doesn't deserve her."

"Logan," Kurt began. "The child, it's not--"

"No." Logan puffed as he lit the cigar.

"Then who--"

"Don't know," Logan replied. "But I don't like it."

Inside the facility, Scott was listless. He absently played with the forming bruise where Logan had hit him. The feral mutant's words kept boiling in Scott's ears. _"Jean is a good woman."_ Logan had a point. But the fact that it had to come from Logan and the fact that the other man had said with obvious adoration and love brimming over his voice only further tightened the knot in Scott's stomach.

"He should have just hit me again," Scott muttered. "It would have felt better."

It had been years since Scott had last been on the Muir Island facility. An awkward teen then, he and Jean had been working as assistants to Dr. MacTaggert and Hank. Hank had just graduated a year early and was smug as hell, Moira was frantic about her patient, Kevin.

That was all in the past. Scott was a man now, of course, his recent actions could have proved otherwise. He pulled a fist back to hit the wall, thought better of it and resumed kneading the bridge of his nose. To have worked so hard for so many years to risk throwing it away in a moment of confused passion was stupid at best.

Scott decided he needed Twinkies. And maybe a beer. He needed Hank.

He headed down the corridors of the facility towards Moira's office. Moira wasn't there, but a younger man was behind her desk. The man brushed a tousled wave of auburn hair back as he gave Scott a smirk.

"Excuse me?" Scott said. "I'm looking for Hank. Or Moira. Is either one around?"

The other man shook his head, a hint of amusement in his red eyes.

Despite his hackles rising, Scott forced a smile and held out his hand. "I don't believe we've met," he said. "I'm Scott Summers. You must be Sean Cassidy."

"You got me." The other man took Scott's hand and shook it. "Pleasure to meet you."

A genial smile on his face a casual, friendly handshake. Scott tightened his grip on the other man's hand. The other man frowned.

"Sean Cassidy's Irish," Scott said. "Born and raised in County Mayo. Who are you, kid?"

"A shame," he muttered.

A bo staff. The kid had it tucked behind his trenchcoat. That's why Scott hadn't initially seen it. Of course, that didn't matter, as Scott only saw the weapons before the stranger cracked it across his head.

Scott stumbled back, but his attacker still had a firm grip on his hand. The auburn haired man hopped and slid across Moira's desk to join Scott. Scott's temple throbbed, if he could blink away the black spots in his vision, he'd be able to properly defend himself instead of just punching out with his free hand.

The other man smirked. "I'm 'bout as Irish as the rest of New Orleans."

Blackness enveloped Scott as he was hit with the bo staff again.


	12. Chapter 12

12:

"Scott! What happened to you?" Scottish accent. Moira's voice.

Scott blinked. "Dr. MacTaggert?"

"Boy, who beat the bejeezus out of you?" she asked.

"Don't know," he mumbled as he grazed a hand over the goose egg at his temple. "Some Cajun kid."

"Cajun?" Moira scowled. She pushed him into a sitting position. "We have no Cajuns currently employed here, what happened?"

"I introduced myself." Scott groaned as he rested his head against the wall. "Then he cracked me over the skull with a bo staff."

"Well, I'll get Hank to look at you, make sure you don't have a concussion." She shook her head. "I'll give Sean a call, have him do a sweep of the place, make sure nothing's missing."

"I need some coffee I think," Scott muttered. "Then I've got to make a few phone calls. Make sure Ororo got my note, make sure she knows I left Cairo."

"Good idea." Moira helped him to his feet. "I don't want you falling asleep until Hank says you're okay."

"Where's your phone?"

And just like that, the lights went out.

Moira swore. "Sean promised me he'd look into that," she said. "Wait a minute, the generator should come on."

The power came back on in a wave, only to shudder out again.

"Is this normal?" Scott asked.

"No, it isn't," Moira replied. She headed to her desk and began to flip through papers. "Did that boy give you any clue as to why he was here before knocking you out?"

"None. Why?"

"Doesn't really matter, I suppose," Moira muttered. "But with the power to the facility gone, the containment cell for Mutant X is also gone."

"Moira! I thought you said–"

"It's not important," she interrupted. "Not right now. If that happens, the children are in danger. Everybody is."

"I think it's important," Scott murmured.

Moira threw open her closet door, she pulled out a shotgun and tossed it to Scott. "I'll answer for everything, but let's not waste time now arguing about it." She claimed a semi-automatic for herself. "Understood?"

"You sure you can go through with this?" Scott asked.

"I have to," she replied. Moira opened the door.

Scott nodded. "Understood."

They stalked out of the office and Moira immediately started in the direction of the dormitories, Scott guarding her rear.

"Forge, Logan and the large boy, Peter, should be safe," Moira said.

"We find the kids first," Scott said.

"Of course," Moira replied. "You think I'm some sort of monster?"

"That's yet to be seen," Scott grumbled.

Together, they quickly located Bobby, Kitty and Rogue. In their dorm room, Kitty was absently flipping through a magazine while pretending she wasn't eavesdropping on Bobby and Rogue who were talking quietly on the bed.

She raised an eyebrow and tossed the magazine aside. "Mr. Summers? I thought you were in Cairo. And you're hurt and what are you doing with a shotgun?"

"Remember self-defense class?" Scott asked. "You can't always use your mutant power."

"Quickly, there are others still missing," Moira said. "Child, do you know how to fire a gun?"

"I've played Counter Strike with some of the boys once or twice." Kitty shrugged. "I don't think that really counts for much."

"You'd think right, child," Moira snapped. "Just stick close to me and Scott."

"Wait, what's going on?" Bobby asked.

"Interesting how when I say 'quickly' everyone has questions all of a sudden," Moira said. "Move it. Stay close to Scott or myself and I'll talk as we locate the others."

"Who are we missing?" Scott asked.

"Top priority goes to the little girl, Lorna," Moira said as she started back down the hallway. "Then Sean and Kurt."

"Wait a minute, what about Peter?" Kitty demanded. "Where's his priority?"

"Peter's trapped in his metal form," Moira replied. "So he's in absolutely no danger whatsoever."

"That doesn't make any sense to me," Rogue spoke up.

Moira stopped abruptly. "Are the children normally this chatty, Scott?"

"No, actually," Scott said. "Normally they're pretty good kids."

"Then listen, children." Moira shot them all a dark look. "This is a very dangerous situation and you are very distracting. So shut up and pay attention to anything Scott or I may say. Got it?"

The three teens nodded.

"Good," Moira said. "Follow close. Lorna should be in the lab with Peter and Forge."

* * *

"How are we doing today?" Melody grinned as she set the food tray down on a table by Jean's bed.

"Alright." Jean forced a smile to her lips.

"That's good to hear," Melody said. "And can I get your lady friend anything or did she eat out?"

"Her lady friend is fine," Ororo said.

Melody's smile widened at Ororo's narrowed eyes. "You look like a tea drinker to me," the nurse said. "A nice herbal decaf, maybe? I know you're stuck here for hours on end and I know I'd appreciate it if someone tried to make my stay more comfortable."

"Perhaps some other time," Ororo replied.

Melody started to frown and then shrugged it off. "If you ever change your mind, I'll be around."

"You've made that quite obvious, thank you," Ororo said.

Melody made to leave, but paused at the door. "The gentleman, Mr. Summers, would he like anything while I'm around?"

Ororo forced a polite smile to her lips, but a slight quiver at her brow betrayed her. "No. He won't be here, today."

"Oh?" Melody crossed her arms. "That doesn't sound like him."

When Ororo's nostril flared, Jean placed a hand on her arm. "It's alright," Jean said.

The two friends exchanged glances and Ororo relented. She turned to Melody. "Scott won't be here today," she repeated. "But thank you for your concern. If we need anything, we'll let you know."

"Sure thing." Melody nodded. She directed a stern look to Jean. "And you better eat up, Mom. Take care of that baby."

"He's fine," Jean said, her hand absently stroked her belly.

Melody blinked. "He? I didn't know that you were having a boy."

Jean raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you know I was psychic?" She smiled. "Let's just call it a hunch."

"Oh..." Melody fumbled for the door. "I- I, well, congratulations. I'll be back around lunchtime, okay? Take care of yourself until then." She hurried out of the room.

"Well, that was odd," Jean commented.

"Yes." Ororo sighed. "Jean, you should know, I found an odd note from Scott..."

"He's gone, isn't he?" Jean asked. A box of juice from the food tray floated over to her hand.

"It seemed so sudden to me." Ororo plucked an orange from the tray and began to peel it. "Out of character. You'd tell me if something happened between the two of you, wouldn't you?"

"If Melody gives me apple juice one more time, I'll scream," Jean said. "It's my favorite, but sometimes a variety is nice."

Ororo set the orange down. "Jean, I'm worried. Talk to me, please."

"I can feel him." A quick flicker of smile happened across Jean's lips and was gone. "I can feel everyone." She pointed a finger to her temple. "In here. You, the professor, my parents, the students... But Scott, he's so beautiful, bright, strong, blinding. And if that wasn't terrifying and wonderful enough to deal with, through it all I can sense this enormous bird burning and telling me that everything will be okay."

"You're not making any sense." Ororo placed her hand on her friend's forehead. "You must be tired still."

"You smell like oranges." Jean giggled. "That's strange, I always figured you'd smell like rain."

"I'd like to," Ororo whispered. "I thought that Logan was the one with the nose, not you."

"Logan is spice and blood," Jean replied. "Like a funeral pyre. Hank is sugar and cinnamon and the professor... what does sadness and determination taste like?"

"I don't know," Ororo murmured. "I've never experienced that combination before."

"Oh?" Jean's eyes gleamed. "What has the storm experienced?"

"Love," Ororo said. "And fear. Anger and benevolence. What about Jean Grey?"

"I don't know." Jean paused. "But I'd like to feel everything."

Ororo laughed. "You say that now, but wait until something unpleasant arises to agree to experiencing it. You may feel differently, then."

Jean shook her head. "It's life. It's living. I think I'm ready for that, now."


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** Well, had to be expected eventually. Got to slap an Alternate Timeline or Alternate Universe tag on both this and _Days of the Phoenix._ My dirty little secret is that I don't really like the latest X movie.

* * *

13:  
All Lorna Dane had ever wanted out of life was to be rich, famous and loved by all. Not such a big demand. Maybe she could have been an astronaut, too, on her spare time from spreading world peace. 

But her stupid being a mutant got in the way. All the other kids used to get jealous, that her parents were cool enough to let her dye her hair green. Silly them. One had to have parents for them to be cool enough to let seven year olds get dye jobs. Funny how the envy turned to disgust when the other kids figured out it wasn't dye.

It wasn't like Lorna ever asked to be a mutant. The last thing she could remember actually asking for was probably some bubble gum from the big blue guy, Dr. McCoy. She felt bad for being scared of him earlier, he really was nice. Maybe she'd dye her hair blue, if Mr. Summers let her.

Well, maybe if she didn't die in the next few minutes, at any rate.

Lorna repeated over and over in her head that she was safe and that as the adult, Forge would never let anything happen to her, but her heart wouldn't listen. It pounded against her ribs and she was certain that everyone in the room could hear it.

Forge put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her behind him. "What are you doing out of your containment field, Kevin?"

"The field fell." Kevin grinned as he staggered forward. His body looked strange, like the joints were hooked together wrong.

"Peter," Forge said. "Get in front of Lorna."

Kevin scowled. "You're trying to kill me, Maker."

"You can return to the containment field, Kevin," Forge said. They Cheyenne man moved slowly, cautiously.

"Live in a prison?" Kevin cocked his head to one side, it swung loosely like a vertebra had been crushed.

Forge snapped his attention to Peter who had been edging his way towards Lorna. "Keep yourself between Lorna and Kevin," he commanded. He turned back to Kevin. "Your body's failing, boy. Get back to the field."

"No," Kevin said. He lurched a few more steps towards them. "There are other ways to live. I know this. You know this, Forge. I won't go back there."

Forge's eyes narrowed. "You can't have the girl. I won't allow it."

"You would be the more satisfying host," Kevin slurred. "Trapping me in that hell hole."

"Then take me, boy." Forge flexed his metal hand before he crossed his arms.

Lorna reached up and wrapped her hand around Peter's index finger. "I don't want to be here anymore."

"I would," Kevin said. "If your body wasn't so useless."

"My prosthetics work well enough." Forge stuck his metal hand out at Kevin. "See for yourself."

Kevin recoiled. "Don't touch me!"

A sick feeling curled up in Lorna's belly and the universe shifted. Forge's outstretched hand began to melt, molten metal burnt holes into the ground. When the man's hand had vanished, the skin and meat on his arm followed suit, like pulled taffy dangling from his bones.

Sweat beaded at Forge's brows as he closed his eyes. "It's just an illusion," he said between rapid breaths. "It's what Kevin does when he's upset."

"I want to go home," Lorna mumbled. She didn't like how tight her throat felt. It made her words choke.

Peter glanced down at the girl. He gently put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her towards his side. Lorna clung to the older boy's leg.

Kevin beckoned towards her. "Little girl, come here." The floor rolled forward, nudging her towards the strange man.

"Don't want to." Lorna looked down, tried to pull her hair over her face like that would hide her tears. She'd never be an X-Man if she kept crying whenever she got scared.

Peter scooped her into his arms. "I don't know what your plans are, tovarisch–"

"I'm not talking to you." Kevin dragged his thumb and forefinger across his lips and Peter's mouth melted into itself.

"It's an illusion," Forge insisted softly. His breath was ragged as he gripped what remained of his arm with his good hand.

"I'm getting impatient, Maker," Kevin said. His movements were jerky and unnatural.

"Get back into your containment field, boy," Forge grated.

"You're not in much of a position to make demands," Kevin snarled. "Now, since I have only so much time, I'm going to say it once more before I get angry. Give me the girl."

"Go away!" Lorna thrust her hand out and the screw that had been the bane of her existence only moments previous raised from the table and stabbed Kevin in the stomach.

Kevin blinked and looked down at the minuscule wound. He took two steps backwards and began to scream hysterically.

Peter's mouth went back to normal and Forge's hand reformed.

"Good work," Forge said. "We need to move him back to the containment field, quickly. Before he dies."

"Anyone mind telling me why the power's out?" Logan asked as he walked through the door.

"Perfect." Kevin giggled. The man's body collapsed, a husk of a living thing, as a bright, effervescent light left Kevin and sank into Logan.

Forge shook his head.

Logan slammed into the doorframe, his body quaking. The Wolverine's mouth fell open in a cacophony of screams.

"Is that him?" Peter asked. His grip on Lorna tightened. "Or the other one?"

"That damn fool boy," Forge muttered.

* * *

"Holy moly..." Melody dropped the tray of food she had been carrying. "How long has she, I mean, how dilated, wait a minute, I'll go get the doctor..." 

"The baby will be out before you find him," Ororo said. "Stay here, I could use an extra set of hands."

"Will she be okay?" Melody asked. She hovered over the other woman's shoulder. "This is too early for the baby to be born, right? Has to be a whole nine months and all and, and... wow."

"I've done some midwife work in the past," Ororo murmured. She glanced over Jean's thigh. "Try to push, Jean. We're almost there."

Melody closed her hand around Jean's. "I think kids should be grown in jars on the windowsill," she said weakly.

Jean's knuckles turned white as she clamped onto Melody's hand. "Who are you?"

"A guardian angel, Mom." Melody laughed. Her face turned a lovely shade of green. "Let's get this baby out, okay?"

"Jean, push!" Ororo commanded. "I think I can see the head."

Melody glanced over at Ororo. "Yeah, that's a head, alright. I think." She turned back to Jean and rubbed sweat from the redhead's forehead with the heel of her hand. "You're doing great. But you're crushing my hand."

"No stopping now, Jean," Ororo said. "Melody, grab me a towel."

"I'm on it." Melody pried her hand free from Jean's and headed towards a supply closet.

When she returned to Ororo's side, the other woman had a tiny infant in her arms. Ororo worked quickly with her fingers to clear the baby's mouth and nostrils of gunk. Without a look to acknowledge Melody, Ororo held out a hand for a towel and proceeded to rub the infant clean.

The baby blinked three times, stunned, before it took a deep breath and began desperate squalling shrieks. Ororo wrapped the child in a clean towel and handed it to Melody.

"It's a healthy baby boy," Ororo murmured. She gestured to the blood and fluids on her hands and shirt. "I need to get cleaned up."

"A boy?" Melody glanced down at the infant in her arms. Eyes dark blue, face deep red, he wouldn't stop screaming. She swallowed. "Hi there, little guy. Let's get you to your mom."

The infant paused his crying and focused on Melody. His eyes glowed and for a moment, Melody's eyes were green instead of her normal brown. Melody shook her head and passed him off to Jean.

Jean beamed, sweaty and exhausted. She kissed her son on the top of his head. "Hello, Nathan Christopher."


	14. Chapter 14

14:  
Melody wouldn't stop pacing. Quick, furtive glances were spared frequently for the new mother and her child, but the nurse's feet kept moving. Back and forth until it seemed she would wear a hole into the floor.

"Melody." Jean cocked her head to one side.

"Huh?" Melody stopped abruptly. "Yeah, what do you need?"

"You look like yourself again," Jean said simply.

"Myself?" Melody's hand found her face. "You had me scared for a minute during the delivery. Thought you were going to tear my arm off."

Jean laughed softly. "You try forcing something the size of a watermelon through something the size of a lemon."

Melody grimaced. "Eww." She took a deep breath. "Yeah, I never need to hear you say something like that ever again."

"Don't worry, I don't think I'll be doing this again." Jean pressed her lips against her son's temple. "Well, for a long time, at least."

"No?" Melody frowned. "One's enough? You don't even want a girl? You know, get the complete set?"

"And name her Rachel like Scott suggested?" Jean held up little Nathan in front of her and shook her head. "The way everyone keeps talking about baby girls, it makes me think everyone's not satisfied with you, angel."

The infant opened his tiny pink mouth and yawned.

"I didn't mean–" Melody walked towards the bed. "Your son's beautiful."

"He is, isn't he?" Jean murmured. "I think he likes you, too."

Melody smiled. "Really? You're just saying that."

"His thoughts are very simple yet," Jean said. "Warmth, cold, hunger, comfort, distress. He's completely at ease around you."

"I don't know about that," Melody stammered. "His mom's here too, I bet he's just comfortable because you're here..."

"Hold him." Jean lifted the infant towards the other woman. "Go on."

"I just–" Melody took a few steps towards the bed. "Okay."

Jean passed her son off into Melody's arms and smiled as the other woman tensed up uncomfortably. Melody shifted the boy closer, towards her chest and shot a quick glance at his mother.

"He's so small," Melody said. "I almost feel like I'm going to break him."

"You're doing fine," Jean replied. "I told you he likes you."

"That's– that's nice." The dark haired woman smiled.

Jean nodded. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Beg pardon?"

"It's okay," Jean said. "I understand now."

"Well, I don't." Melody tucked Nathan back into Jean's arms. "I should– I've got some things to do, still. There should be a nursery set up somewhere. I'll go find it."

"Do what you have to." Jean smiled. "We'll be fine here."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was obvious that the silence had begun to wear on the younger members of the group. Even Scott, trusted adult and fearless leader, had his jaw clenched tight. Moira adjusted her grip on the shotgun and continued down the facility's corridors.

She allowed a pang of guilt to surface because even with all the guests in her care, her first thoughts had been for Sean. Guilt realized and admitted, Moira shoved it back down and focused on her obligations. The children. With the majority of the teens tucked safely behind her and Scott, all that remained was little Lorna Dane before Moira could hunt down her missing lover.

Bobby's fingers were locked with Rogue's, Moira frowned at the girl's trembling bottom lip. Fear was an acceptable reaction, so long as it wasn't debilitating. Fortunately, Rogue was simply cold, a fact Moira picked up based on the icy vapor that Bobby was exhaling. Kitty appeared to actually be analyzing the situation. Moira shook her head and continued on towards the examination rooms.

When that inhuman scream echoed through the hallways, however, it made Moira long for the calm of Bobby's rasping, frozen breath. She held a hand out behind her. "That has to be Kevin."

"Bobby, Kitty, Rogue," Scott commanded. "Behind me, now."

The teenagers quickly fell behind their teacher.

"No heroes, hear me?" Moira said. "I want you and these kids out of the way now, Scott."

Cyclop's lips pressed together in a thin frown. "It's too dangerous to go by yourself."

"My problem," she said. "I won't drag you or these children into it."

"Too late, Moira," he replied.

"Aye." She nodded. "Follow close and do not do anything unless told to. These children are your responsibility, Mr. Summers and if you let them get hurt, I'll skin you alive."

"Fair enough," Scott said. "You heard the lady."

The examination room door was wide open. A child was crying within and the sound sent relief coursing through Moira's veins. Crying meant still alive. The gurgling roar that hadn't stopped quite yet was something to worry about, however.

On the sterile floor, Logan was convulsing. The telltale signs of Kevin's work were everywhere. Out of the tiny group trapped in the room, Forge seemed to be the only one with his head screwed on completely right. He'd dealt with Kevin before, he understood how imperative it was to keep calm and rational. Still, the man's jaw was tight and the color had drained from the knuckles of his hand.

Peter was putting on a good show of bravery for Lorna and for that, Moira was grateful. The last thing she would need was to have to write up an explanation for post traumatic stress to the girl's guardians. Moira had more important things to worry about, like the body with signs of accelerated decomposition that was sprawled lifelessly next to Logan's writhing form.

"He has a healing factor, right, Scott?" Moira asked.

"Yeah." Scott had his arm out behind him to hold group of teens at bay from the scene. "Why?"

"Has its limits ever been tested?"

"In a lab you mean?"

Moira hefted the shotgun up and fired a blast into the Wolverine. "Would he survive that, for example?" she snapped.

A high pitched screech erupted from the man as his chest began to knit itself back together.

"He's not going to be happy about that," Scott muttered.

"Will he live?" Moira shot Logan again.

Scott turned around. "Bobby, Rogue, Kitty, get back to your rooms, now."

"What?" Rogue shook her head. "What're you doing? You're killing him?"

"You don't need to see this," Scott said. "No questions, just go."

"You can't kill him!" Rogue dropped Bobby's hand and forced her way towards Scott and the door. "We don't do that and– We don't do that!"

Scott gripped her shoulder firmly. "What we do is listen to our superiors in a dangerous situation to minimize risks. I gave you three an order now do it."

Kitty pulled her friend back. "Let's go, Rogue." She looked back at Scott. "I'll keep them intangible for as long as I can."

Scott nodded. "Good thinking."

Moira had since reloaded and fired another shot into Logan. Peter had lifted Lorna into his arms and pressed her face against his chest. An attempt to soothe the girl's hysterics, Moira couldn't see how successful Peter was.

What she could see was the mutant at her feet that she had shot three times in a row point blank range with a shotgun. Logan's healing factor was near miraculous, but she could only hope that it would hold up to the challenge. His legs and fingers were still twitching, so Moira shot him again.

"Moira!" Forge called out. "Enough."

"You so certain about that, Maker?" she asked.

"I'm not certain how much more that particular man can take," he replied. "Don't let yourself get carried away."

"I'm trying to end this," Moira said.

"You have," Forge said. "Look at him."

Before her, Logan was limp and unmoving. His jaw slack, blood oozed from the corner of his mouth. The adrenaline left her and Moira's limbs felt sluggish. Only Lorna's hiccuped cries held the same energy from earlier.

Moira dropped her shotgun next to the two bodies. She turned to Scott. "Locate our missing men. I want to see that everyone's accounted for. Forge can stabilize Logan until you can find Hank."

"What about you, Doctor?" Scott asked.

"I need a pint," Moira said. "Or more. I'll be at the pub. I trust that no one'll disturb me." She walked away.

Scott frowned. "Now, wait just a–"

"Let her go," Forge said. He stepped towards Logan and knelt before the unconscious man. "I could use your help."

"Right." Scott lingered a moment at the door before he joined Forge. "There are more important things to worry about than selfish people, I'm sorry."

Forge began to peel off Logan's flannel and ripped his t-shirt open. "I'm unfamiliar with your beliefs, Mr. Summers, but some view the past as a sacred thing. Dr. MacTaggert needs some time, it looks like you do, too."

"Logan's still breathing," Scott said.

Forge nodded. "Focus on the now, I understand."


	15. Chapter 15

15:

"This seat taken?"

Moira shoved her stout aside and glanced up with bleary eyes. Scott wasn't a bad looking man when he threw on some cologne and a nice sweater. A shame his folks weren't around to see what a fine lad he had turned out to be.

"You weren't supposed to come here," Moira said. Funny how she slurred when she was drunk, it almost made it sound like Scottish was a different language from English altogether.

Scott sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the table. "Logan's okay. Very angry, but okay. I thought you'd like to know that."

"Good for him." She turned back to her stout.

"I know it's not my place to question you–"

"Then don't." Moira took a deep swig and refused to look at the younger man.

"But why?" Scott said. "Why did you do it? I know it was Kevin, but I didn't recognize the body."

"The body originally belonged to a fisherman," she said quietly. "Kevin wouldn't talk about it, but we think he was trying to make it to the mainland. More host bodies that way."

"Moira." He reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. "That still doesn't explain why you kept him in that containment room for so long."

She glared up at him with red rimmed eyes. "He was my son."

"He should have died when his body did," Scott said. "Look what he's done to you by threatening everyone in your facility and making you kill him."

"Did you find Sean?" Moira asked.

"Yeah. Sean and Kurt found that Cajun kid and gave him a good thrashing. Hank went out for fish and chips and missed everything." With those ruby quartz glasses of his, Scott could have been staring at anything. "You did the right thing, earlier. Kevin would have killed us all if you didn't..."

"It doesn't feel right," she said.

"Would it have felt better if Kevin managed to possess a viable body?" Scott asked. "Maybe me or one of the kids? What about Sean?"

She threw the rest of her drink in his face. "Don't you try to patronize me, boy. I'm so thankful that Logan had enough metal in his bones to throw Kevin into shock, but don't you dare ever try to act like you have a better understanding of this mess than I do."

He took the jack from her hand and set it down on the bar. "Then make me understand."

"It hurts," Moira said. "I wanted what was best for him, but failed him every step of the way. Father doesn't even know he existed, I couldn't help him control his mutant ability— I just murdered him, but instead of being arrested, I'm here trying to drink myself to death."

Scott picked up a napkin and dabbed at the drink that covered his face. "Come home, Moira."

She laughed. "Don't have kids, Scott. You're a good man that tries too hard. They'll ruin you."

"I believe you," he said.

* * *

"By all accounts, you should be dead. So please, lie back and relax."

"If you don't pull all these flaming tubes and wires out of me," Logan growled.

"You aren't at one hundred percent," Forge replied. "You're not allowed to smoke in here, but your blue friend is in the process of getting you a beer."

Logan yanked an IV out of the top of his hand. "Don't think just because you're nursing me back to health, I'm going to forget about how I ended up here in the first place."

"There's a young lady who wants to see you," Forge said. "Sit back and I'll let her in."

"Huh?"

Forge shook his head and opened the door. Rogue stopped her fidgeting abruptly as she glanced up from her feet to Logan.

"Logan!" There was an awkward jolt of energy, like the girl couldn't decide whether to run to his side or walk casually.

"Will you see that he rests?" Forge asked.

Rogue nodded.

The Maker shook his head again as he left.

"Hey, darlin'," Logan said.

"How're you feeling?" Gloved fingers softly patted his hand.

"I've had worse." His tone was meant to be simple, to set the child at ease. Instead, deep furrows formed at Rogue's brow.

"I thought they were going to kill you," she said.

The corner of his mouth quirked up for a brief second. "It takes more than that."

"I know," she said. "But you looked so helpless there and I got scared, I guess. So much that I couldn't do anything."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Like dive in front of the shotgun?"

Rogue shrugged. "I just want to be able to save you if you need it. I owe you for all the billion times you've saved me."

"Rogue." He gripped her hand. "Don't change, kid."

"What?"

"Forge is full of crap," he said. "I'm healed up good enough."

"Now wait a minute," she said. "I know you want to be out of here, but if you push yourself too hard–"

Logan laughed. "Wagner better hurry back with the beer."

"I'll go find him." Rogue made no move to leave Logan's bedside.

It was just as well. While Logan tried to think of something to do other than chuckling at the girl's open admiration, there was a knock on the door. Instead of Kurt, Scott shuffled in. At least he had the decency to bring beer.

"Logan," he said.

Logan just nodded his head.

"I, uh, left Moira back at the pub." Scott gestured to the beer in his hand. "I think she needs some more time to think and someone else to talk to. Besides me."

"Your little talk didn't work with her, so you thought you'd try it out on me?" Logan asked.

Scott opened his mouth and then closed it. "No. I have a brand new talk just for you."

"Great," Logan muttered.

Scott turned his head to Rogue. "Rogue, would you…?"

The girl shared a glance with Logan.

"It's fine," Logan said. "I'll see you as soon as I unplug myself from all these machines."

That seemed to suffice and Rogue started to creep towards the door. Scott tried not to sigh.

"I don't normally shoot myself in the chest out of boredom," Logan said.

"I wanted to thank you for being there." Scott raked a hand through his hair. "I don't want to think about how much worse it could have been if Kevin had managed to possess anyone else."

Logan shook his head. "Cut the shit, Summers. You didn't come here to thank me."

In truth, Scott had prepared a long, intricate speech, maybe because he had forgotten who he was speaking to. Or maybe it was precisely because he knew who he was talking to and had grown accustomed to that comfortable distance between them.

"No. You're right," Scott said. "Thanking you was part of it, but I should probably apologize, first."

"Don't apologize."

"No?"

"Just don't do it again." Logan leaned back on the bed.

"If it was that easy, I wouldn't be trying to apologize," Scott replied. "Look, we don't get along, I get that. We don't have to, but I've let that upset my abilities as a leader and teacher."

He paused, to give Logan a chance to respond. When the other man just stared at him, Scott realized he had to go on.

"It's affecting the school and it's affecting the kids," Scott continued. "They have no idea who to listen to anymore."

"What are you trying to say?" Logan asked.

"I'm saying that I'm not fit to be in charge." Scott exhaled. "At least, not right now. And that means you need to step up until Ororo can come back. The kids like you, you just need to start listening to people like the professor more."

"Get your head out of your ass."

"Excuse me?"

Logan snorted as he began to pull IVs out. "I like Xavier's, but I'm too used to being on my own. That doesn't make for a good leader. Get over yourself and get back to where you belong or you're going to drive yourself crazy."

Scott chuckled. "That's what I'm doing Logan. I'm asking you to cover my ass while I pull my head out of it."

Logan was silent a long moment until he offered the other man a single nod of his head.

"Thanks," Scott murmured.

Logan held out his hand and Scott shook it.

Logan frowned down at their hands. "I was reaching for the beer."

Scott blinked and fumbled for the beer. "Right."

"Don't worry about it." Logan grasped the other man's hand firmly and shook it back.


End file.
